Journey To The Past
by virellya
Summary: A decade after the disappearance of the heir to the throne the french royal family promises the ones who find her a reward, which leads the two con men, Rick Grimes and his friend Shane Walsh, to embark on a journey to find the one woman who can play the role of the long lost Michonne Valois. Richonne. Anastasia AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I've been stuck on this story for a while now and I've finally gotten around to writing a few chapters. To be honest, I've been kind of nervous to post this, because I know I've still got another story to finish and I've gotten a couple of messages asking me to update. I'm definately planning on getting back to "Walk Upon Water" as well at some point. But for now, I really hope you enjoy this little fairytail story. Just as a little disclaimer: this story is not going to be historically accurate!

**Prologue - Things I Almost Remember**

* * *

**Paris, France**

**December 1916**

The lively sounds of the music flowed through the room and into the hearts of everyone in the glittering ballroom.

Michonne loved nights like tonight; everyone laughing, dancing, the merriment present on everyone's faces. She had attended many balls in her family's ballroom, but that night it was decorated more extravagantly than she had ever seen it before: in reds and golds and violets, brocades and velvets, jewels shining everywhere. The entire country was celebrating in honor of the King's birthday, Michonne on the other hand was merely celebrating her fathers.

Admittedly, it had been a long and tiring day for her. Days like these always meant she would have to sit through multiple hours of preparation. While she was aware of all the privileges that came with being a member of the royal family, it were days like these that made her long for an ordinary life that allowed her to go to town, see life outside the palace walls and have friends that were actually her age.

Ever since the passing of her mother, her father had become fearful of losing his daughter too, and the rules around the palace have become a lot stricter for the future heir to the throne. Most memories of her mother had slowly faded in Michonne's mind. Sometimes, when she embarked on one of her little explorations through the colossal palace, she'd stop at the giant painting of her parents. She'd stare at it for a while, mesmerized by how the two of them gazed at each other with such adoration in their eyes. The memory of how truly in love they had been had made her wonder if one day she would be lucky enough to find a husband to rule by her side who would love her just as much.

Yeah, Michonne was able to enjoy a life full of expensive presents, extravagant dresses and grand parties. It was a life that a lot of girls could only dream about, and yet this life had cost Michonne her mother. She often found herself feeling incredibly lonely. She didn't have any siblings, let alone friends. All she had left were her father and her grandmother, though she only came to visit Paris a couple of times a year.

So she spent most of her free time tip-toeing around the palace, driving the handmaidens who were assigned to watch the little girl completely insane. And when days like these finally came, where the palace would be filled by people and she knew her grandmother would finally visit her again, she'd sit through all her lessons and those agonizing hours of doing her hair and getting dressed.

In events like these, the palace gates were open to everyone; the ballroom filled with people of all backgrounds and professions, even at the age of eight Michonne could understand this wasn't royal protocol in many other countries, which is why she treasured her home so much.

She spotted her father across the hall. He always lit up the room when he walked in. The greatness of the king came from the way he loved his people. He truly listened, with the heart as well as the ears and eyes. He greeted a few people before opening his arms upon seeing his daughter to welcome her into his arms.

"Chonne! My precious girl, are you having fun?" Her father took her into his arms, readjusting the jeweled tiara that adorned her head - "the symbol of your duty to the country and its people." he had explained in that soft, deep voice of his on the day that he had gifted it to her. She had just looked over the crown in her hands, onyx and silver and diamonds, and thought she'd never held anything so beautiful before.

"Yes Papa, but Grand-maman Josephine isn't here yet." Michonne pouted slightly at the realization, she was always so excited to see her grandmother - she enjoyed hearing her stories and her wisdom seemed endless to her.

Pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek her father chuckled, "Darling don't fret, Grandma will be along shortly. She's just always late, you know that by now."

"Grandma says Queens are never late, everyone else is simply early," Michonne stated proudly.

Rolant couldn't hide his amusement, knowing that's exactly something his mother would say. Shaking his head, he pressed one more kiss to his daughter's cheek before taking her hand into his.

There really was nothing else in this world that he loved more than his daughter. He took a few seconds to really look at her. He loved to see her so happy. That smile looked exactly like her mother's.

He squeezed her hand and swiftly pulled the small girl towards the ballroom's dance floor.

"May I have this dance, madame?" he asked. Michonne could only think about how much she loved basking in his affection, a blinding smile on her face as she nodded her head.

The song changed and her father lifted her into the air, spinning her around in time with everyone around them. She began to giggle at the action and gripped the sleeves of his jacket to stop herself slipping. Her father's deep laugh only encouraged hers and people looked on at them in fondness. Their King and Princess showing genuine emotion, it was rare for royalty.

Looking towards the back of the room, where the thrones were placed for her family, Michonne saw her grandmother taking a seat. Gasping, she squirmed out of your fathers hold, squeezing through the crowds of people and pranced over to her open arms, wrapping herself into her embrace.

Her grandmother's fingers ran through her hair in a comforting gesture and she melted into her familiar touch. The feeling of family overjoyed the little girl. Such valuable moments were rare due to the demanding nature of her family's jobs and so she learned to treasure every moment like this, where she could just spend time with the people she cared about.

"I missed my girl." The Empress said softly as she pressed a kiss to the little girls head.

"I missed you, too!"

The old woman reached for her clutch, fishing for the box hidden inside. Her grandmother was still full of life for her age. She was thin and rather tall and she always wore her hair in long locs. Her skin was radiant and Michonne thought she was one of the most beautiful women in the world. And she was an energetic woman, who never stayed in one place for too long. Most of her time she spent at her residence in London. She loved to travel and see the world, and every time she'd come back to Paris she would bring gifts from around the world for her little granddaughter to see.

"I got something, something just for you. I meant to give this to you tomorrow before I leave, but I think now is the perfect time." She opened the case to reveal a little music box.

"Mémère!"

Small hands reached for the box, finding the ornate key and a small silver 'M' and 'J' attached to a delicate chain beneath it. Josephine slipped the necklace over the little girl's head, while she tilted the box to catch the light and put the small key into the little keyhole at the side of the box. She twisted it a few times until a soft melody started to chime.

"It plays our lullaby!" She turned the key over, spotting an inscription on the back of it, but the room was too dim to make it out.

"What does it say?"

"It says, 'Together in London.'"

A few seconds passed as realization crept it's way into the little girl's mind.

"You're... You're taking me?"

The woman nodded slowly and Michonne launched herself into the waiting arms of her grandmother once again, hugging her as hard as she could. "Thank you," she whispered.

As the night went on and she danced more, laughed at her Grandmother's stories and when the music was lowered to mere background noise and the king stood forward to make his speech, the entire room looked upon him with devotion.

Just as he opened his mouth to address the people, the grand doors to the ballroom violently swung open, followed by multiple men dressed in black with masks covering their faces swarming into the room. Michonne's eyes widened in fear as panic spread across the room, her gaze fleeted to her father as the palace security ran towards the intruders. The ringing sound of gunshots and the falling bodies of the security was like a flame to gasoline. Chaos gripped everyone in the room, everyone scrabbling to get away from the raiders. Panic seized her body as she watched them approach her father, who stood strong, unwavering even in such fear. She clutched the arm of her grandmother tight, watching as her father turned to her.

"Get Michonne out of here, now!" His voice was controlled but she could see the fear in his eyes, and it only served to terrify her further.

The queen mother pulled her away from the scene, towards the back exit, her eyes not once leaving the frames of her father.

Though Michonne froze in place as the leader of the group advanced further, making an announcement to the now mainly empty room: "This is the final day of the Valois reign, you and your family will be dealt with accordingly. France will fall under our control."

One last time, the King turned to his daughter, who's blood ran cold and eyes widened as she watched the disguised man raise his gun, pointing the barrel towards her father before pulling the trigger. His body seemed to fall in slow-motion and the screams of the people around her seemed muted to her. She couldn't bare to look anymore.

She tore away her eyes and helplessly looked up at the Empress, who was still holding on to her tightly while staring at her son's lifeless body and watching his blood pool beneath him. Michonne had never seen such a look on her face.

Suddenly, the woman came to life at the realization that the intruders attention was now on her granddaughter. Pushing aside the heavy sadness weighing her heart down, she sprang into action, hurriedly dragging Michonne away and down the corridor. The palace was practically deserted at this point, the siege causing everyone to flee for their lives. She pulled Michonne into a small room off of the corridor and barricaded the door shut as her granddaughter stood there, numb to everything going on around her.

Hearing the heavy footsteps of the men coming down the hall, she knew it was only a matter of time until they'd find them in there.

Panic once again threatened to seize Josephine but she stood strong, the same defiance in her as their had been in the king during his last moments. A pounding could be heard on the other side of the door, and even though it was barricaded it began to shake under the force of the hits - Michonne knew it wouldn't hold them for long.

Just as she thought all hope was lost a small section of the wall opened, previously concealed before by the wallpaper camouflaging it, and a boy appeared in the entry.

He appeared to be the same age as her, if not then only a few years older, his striking blue eyes seemed filled with relief to find her and he didn't hesitate to pull her and the Queen Mother towards the hidden passageway.

She had seen him before. He was a servant boy she had ran into one day when she was strolling through the palace and ended up in the kitchen. He had been carrying a potato sack over his shoulder that he was probably supposed to bring into the kitchen. She told him not to tell the maidens that he had seen her and when he promised that he wouldn't she had meant to go about her way, but curiosity had eventually taken over her and she ended up asking him if he wanted to play a game.

At first the boy had looked at her confused for a minute. After a few seconds of seemingly contemplating his answer he adjusted the potato sack on his shoulder and told her that he has work to do. This time his voice sounded deeper, more mature.

But Michonne couldn't take no for an answer. It wasn't often that Michonne ran into children that were her age and she was yearning for a few minutes of freedom and carelessness.

And it looked like she wasn't the only one. After all, the boy had eventually given in and ended up running through the many corridors of the palace, playing catch with the strange girl he had just met. They laughed and giggled and tried not to get caught and Michonne had trouble remembering the last time she had had so much fun.

It had been cut short though, when the boy brushed against a pedestal and she heard a vase smash against the floor. She'd seen the boy's terrified expression and assured him that there's nothing to worry about. She told him to rush back and she'd take the blame for what happened.

It surprised her that the kid had trouble accepting her proposal, as she knew how worried he must have been about getting in trouble. After assuring him that it was fine, he finally gave in and ran back before her maidens had found her, scolded her and dragged her into her father's chamber.

She still remembers she made him promise not to tell anyone her secret, and how he laughed when she told him what had actually happened. He looked at her bemused and simply said, "You really remind me of your mother sometimes."

It pained her to think of her father. And now, she couldn't believe this strange boy was risking everything in order to help her.

Michonne and Josephine followed the boy into the passageway and closed the door shut behind them.

She could hear the loud crash on the other side and the invaders enter the room. Her heart rate spiked in fear of what they would do if they found them.

"God damn it, where are they?!" Although it was muffled she recognized the gruff voice of the man who killed her father and the tears began to flow down her cheeks once again.

Watching everything through tear-blurred vision, the overwhelming numbness only seemed to get worse, taking over her body and mind. Once the three of them had made it outside, the passageway leading to just outside the palace gates, they were met by more disguised men standing in the distance. One of them had spotted them immediately and informed his comrades. Her Grandmother, seemingly losing hope by the minute, had turned around and kneeled down in front of her, telling her to run towards the gates as fast as she could. Her voice sounded as weak as she felt, and Michonne shook her head as her tears came harder, sobs threatening to spill over her lips. Josephine grabbed her arm, her own tear-filled eyes meeting her granddaughter's, silently begging her to leave her behind. She then turned to the boy, desperately looked him in the eye and said,

"Take her away. Quick."

Before she knew it, the boy had taken hold of her hand and started running, dragging her along with him, away from the last remaining family she had left.

The rest seemed to pass her in a whir. She didn't understand how her legs were still able to carry her as she ran for her life. She doesn't remember how the snow crunched underneath her shoes and how tightly she held onto the boys hand. She doesn't remember the loud gunshot that suddenly rang out or the boy falling down to his knees and the snow slowly turning dark red around him.

"Don't stop." He managed to choke out. She was trembling and still holding onto his hand. Only when he snatched his hand away from her did she manage to snap out of her trance.

"You need to... go. _Run_!"

She looked over their shoulder and found three men still close on their heels. Her heart was beating furiously and her breathing became frantic.

"I'll be fine! They're after you, not me. Now _run_!" He urged again, and she finally took off running.

She tried not to think of the injured boy who she had just left behind, or her grandmother, who's fate remained unknown. All she did was run as fast as she could, not caring about where she would end up.

Her senses were threatening to turn numb. Her vision became blurry once again, tears were streaming down her face and all she could hear were her rushed footsteps in the snow - until, once again, a loud gunshot cut through the silence.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The lullaby that is played by the music box is called "once upon a december" and you can listen to it on youtube! I'd really love to hear your thoughts on the first chapter and let me know if you're interested in me continuing the story. Thank you for reading! x


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Hi! I finally got around to posting chapter two. Thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a comment under the first chapter! It's really exciting to see people be intrigued for what's to come! I'm probably gonna start replying to some reviews again in the upcoming chapters. In the meantime, hope you enjoy this one! x

* * *

**Paris, France**

**December, 1931**

Rick only has the dream when it snows. He dreads the winter ever since that fateful day when he was ten.

The dream is the same, always: there is a blur, and a girl. At the start of the dream she is the only real thing in the world, and then the world around them solidifies. It's freezing.

Rick holds his shoulder, his blood slowly coloring the snow red around him, but he doesn't focus on it. What he does focus on is the girl, who is holding his hand tight, almost too tight. She's breathing hard and it comes out in clouds.

_Run_, he says.

She's trembling and he wonders if she saw what happened to her father. Was she there when it happened? Surely not. He hopes for her sake that she wasn't. But if she was hiding in that room, like she was when he found her, she must have at least heard the gunshots; the screams.

She's never introduced herself but she's never needed to, everyone knows her name: Michonne, the king's only daughter. He has seen her in the palace when his father had taken him along to work in the palace for a day, and she looks exactly the same as she did when he was sneaking glances before he got dragged back to the kitchen.

_Run_, Rick urges again. _They're coming for you, you have to go-_

A noise makes them both jolt. They both whirl around to see the men, and before he can even register what might happen to him if they get to him he urges her to run away.

She kicks up snow as she goes, breath clouding out behind her.

Rick can't look away until the men storm up behind him, grab him by the arm and pull him to face them. His eyes are wide and the blood is soaking his clothes.

He looks into the eyes of the man that grabbed him, and even though he's wearing a mask he recognizes him.

"F-Father? What- What have you done? Why did you-"

He presses down on his son's wound with one hand and grippes his gun with the other, hissing at him,

"What are you doing out here? You shouldn't have seen this-"

He stops and straightens, raising his gun at the girl's back as she flees.

Every time the gun goes off, Rick jolts. It's the loudest noise in the world.

He watches the girl grow smaller. Her dark hair is a drop of colour in a sea of white.

Another shot rings out. Rick watches her back and pictures her breath coming in clouds as she runs, and there's a moment where his mouth opens to say it again, to yell it: _Run!_

As his lips part, there's a final blast. The girl falls and hits the snow and she doesn't get up.

There's more to the memory, Rick knows- the guards showing up, his father getting captured and dragged away before he passes out.

But in the dream, this doesn't happen. In the dream, Rick's father is still and quiet as he steps out into the snow. Rick doesn't look back as he walks, following the footsteps. The hand that held Michonne's is warm.

But he never reaches her body. It seems like the distance is only growing, and he's got more and more time to imagine what her lifeless body would look like.

And then he remembers sneaking out to see her just an hour ago. She had been talking to her grandmother and fiddling with a necklace around her neck. She had been laughing. He can remember the sound of it.

As he remembers her laugh, he wakes up.

* * *

Rick's eyes open to the sight of a plain, dirty ceiling. It's the same ceiling he's looked up at upon waking for about twenty years, ever since he settled in Paris.

He runs his hand over his face and waits for the adrenaline to finish working its way out of his system. He never fails to wake up from that dream unsettled and shaky; the dead body he never saw imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

A knock on the door makes him jolt. His throat works until he has enough moisture in his mouth to say, "Yeah?"

"'S me," comes Shane's voice. "We're late."

Rick huffs a laugh as he slings his legs over the side of the bed and sets his feet on the floor. "We ain't exactly on a schedule here."

"Best selling time of the day's coming up."

Rick grunts in response as he gets dressed in the same clothes he's been wearing for a week before pulling his boots on.

As he leaves, Rick picks up the bag of stolen crap they're going to sell to the good people of Paris.

Shane is sitting on the railing of the steps when Rick opens the door, a fold-up table between his arm and his side. He nods in greeting. His tall frame is bundled up in as many clothes as he could handle.

"Ready to make another fortune today?" Shane jokes and jumpes to the ground.

Rick lets out a dry chuckle and eyes the frayed fabric of Shane's gloves. The snow had stopped last night, but there's still a layer of it on everything. Winter is always hard for them since they don't have enough money for good heating or thick clothing.

They walk several blocks to their usual spot, then start to set up. It doesn't take long- fold out the table, set their goods on top of it, and then stand back and start calling out to the public.

It's the usual stuff, convincing people they need the crap they're selling- they are still coasting off their recent haul of the palace, which has been mostly picked clean for a few years now. Still, Shane and Rick had managed to find a few nick-nacks when they'd last turned it over. Shane is just the best when it comes to foisting shit on people, selling even the stuff that Rick had been sure they would never get rid off, like that one old handkerchief, ("-genuine Valois! Stitched with the king's initials, you can't beat this price-")

It goes like that for most of the rest of the day, until the sun starts to go down and they start to pack up.

"Fuck," Shane laughs as they head through the streets towards the palace.

Rick leans sideways and knocks their shoulders together.

"Hey, don't be too proud of yourself. That money will probably last us for a week or so."

"Yeah, but it's something." he says, kicking at the snow as they walk. Rick watches him- it weighs on the both of them more than they let on. After their remaining parents had died- Shane's mother from a stray gunshot in a riot, Rick's father - well, he got what he deserved after what he did- they started out stealing to eat, then stealing to sell things, and by the time they were sixteen they had been orchestrating low-level cons.

Recently, Shane had been desperately trying to talk Rick into a con that was far more dangerous than the ones they had been used to before. It would be their most elaborate con yet- finding a girl to play the role of the lost french heir to the throne. Rick went through all the dangers in his head. A lot of officials around the city would be right on their heels if they found out about a rumor concerning the possible survival of the lost princess. And if they were lucky enough to really make it out the country there was still the possibility of this whole charade being unmasked, which would set them up to get shot.

At the same time, Shane had repeated over and over again what was at stake for them. If they succeeded, if they convinced the Empress that they had brought her her lost granddaughter, they'd be rewarded with riches beyond belief.

It's nothing more than a fantasy, and he believes Shane would eventually realize that, too. They had a few auditions here and there and he'd stopped talking about it after they couldn't seem to find the right girl to play the part.

"Oh-"

A woman bumps into Rick hard enough that she stumbles, and he reaches out to steady her.

"I'm so sorry," she says, hunched and covered in dirty shawls, eyes downcast. Her face is hidden behind a hood.

"It's fine, miss," he assures her.

Rick can see enough of her face to catch the smile of thanks, and then she continues walking. Shane turnes slightly to watch her leave.

Without taking his eyes from her retreating back, Rick says "Did we know her from somewhere?"

Shane consideres. "I don't think so. Why, she sound familiar?"

"Yeah, kinda. I-" Halfway through turning to him, Rick freezes. He'd gone to put his hand in his coat pockets and instead of brushing the corner of his wallet, his fingers touched bare fabric. He shoves his hand deeper into it, groping, but his pocket is empty.

He whirles around to face the woman again, who is now walking fast down the street. "Hey! Stop!"

The woman doesn't look behind her, but she does start to run.

"What-"

"She stole my wallet," Rick spits out as he breaks into a sprint, with Shane right behind him.

He tears around the corner she had turned around, almost slipping on a patch of ice, and spots her halfway down the street running almost as fast as him. They both shout again, but the woman doesn't even glance over her shoulder.

Rick grits his teeth and runs faster. There is another corner, and Rick nearly loses her in the mill of people which is rapidly becoming a crowd. He stops running and turns around, craning his neck to see over everyone's heads. _Where-?_

He spots a familiar crop of shawls and pushes through the crowd towards it. She isn't running now, just walking and trying to blend in with the crowd.

The first thing Shane does after catching up with her is grab her wrist. "Gotcha. Now, I think you have something of-"

She twists out of his grip like it's nothing, then used that momentum to slam her palm right into his chin, jolting his head backwards and causing him to fall. For a moment Rick is too surprised to do anything, but then she starts ducking in between the crowd, getting away again, and Rick follows.

This time he only catches up to her because the crowd was blocking her path- she is trying to run now, but she can't He reaches for her, but she whirls around and decks him in the cheek. It's hard enough to send him stumbling, and Rick knocks into a good few people before he can right himself.

"Je-sus," he slurs, dazed. He lurches his way back to her. "Hey, come ON-"

He grabs her hood and wrenched it back, then pauses.

She is- well, beautiful, but that's not it. There is something eerily striking about her: brown eyes, long locks, smooth dark skin streaked in dirt. Her lips, nose, cheekbones- he'd seen those exact features before.

She bares her teeth at him. "Finder's keepers."

"Uh." Rick shakes his head. This isn't the time to get distracted by a pretty face. "Not how this works, sweetheart. Give it back."

Her gaze darts around. He supposes she's considering if it's worth it trying to beat him up in the middle of a crowd. Her odds aren't good - she can't exactly run away, not unless she beats him hard enough that he either can't get up or lets her go.

Before she can decide, Rick lets her go and holds up his hands. "Look, I don't want this to turn into a fight."

"It wouldn't be much of a fight," she says after a moment.

He eyes her. "I've seen you around here, huh?"

She pushes her hair from her face. "You might have. You sell nick-nacks, yes? Valois knockoffs."

"Hey, those are the real deal."

She raises an eyebrow and Rick has a flash of wanting to just let her have the damn wallet.

"That's what everyone claims," she says, then she straightens.

"Well, it doesn't look like you're really one to talk about good, honest work, now are you? What's your deal? You ran away from home? Got kicked out?"

Her mouth twitches. Rick tries again: "Or is it more complicated? Are you in the conning business?"

The more he lookes at her, the more he sees features that reminded him of-

She brings up her knee and gets him right in the balls.

_Christ._ Rick can only grunt, sinking to his knees on the cobblestones, the snow that's dark from so many dirty boots. He watches helplessly as the woman pushes her way through the crowd and disappears.

"Fuck," he chokes out when he can form words. "Piece of shit-" he trails off into a groan. His head drifts sideways until it lies on the ground, the muddy slush dampening his hair.

He closes his eyes and listens to everyone walking around him. One asshole even steps over him, but he doesn't blame them. Everyone has to watch out for themselves. Sometimes it's better not to ask why someone is lying on the ground clutching their groin in their hands.

_Is this the country you fought for, father,_ Rick thinks as he lies on the cobblestones. He is mad at the girl, sure, but he understands. He's been in the same situation more than twice. There is not a citizen in Paris who can't at least sympathise with a pickpocket who filches their money, even when they're still fuming over the loss. They live in a country where almost nobody could get by without dipping into the illegal side of things.

"Jesus. You alright, Buddy?"

Rick cracks his eyes open. Shane stands over him, biting back a grin.

"'M great," Rick says. He groans again as Shane helps him up. He has to stand bent over, hands on his knees, wincing to himself. He tries to take a careful step and finds he can do it without falling over. He drops the handful of snow and wipes his hand on the dry side of his shirt.

"Looks like she got you good." his grin now on full display.

"She kicked me in the fucking balls. And she decked me in the face."

Rick reaches up to press against the tender skin of his cheek. Yeah, that one is going to bruise. He bends down gingerly and picks up a handful of dirty snow, pressing it to his cheek.

"Can't believe we really just got our asses handed to us by a girl." Shane says sas they walk down the street, his annoyance now present in his voice.

Rick just sighs. "Forget about it, we're gonna set up the stand again tomorrow."

"Nah," Shane shakes his head "Fuck that. We need to get back to auditions, I'm telling ya."

"Shane-"

"That girl, she was a dead ringer for her."

"_What?_"

"The princess."

Rick pauses for a moment, thinking back to how seeing her face had caught him off guard. How it unsettled him.

"Not this again" He finally says.

"Rick, have you fucking _looked at her_? We've been having auditions for girls for a whole week but we haven't seen anyone who looks more like... I mean, she looked just like she would've looked now if she wasn't, y'know,..."

"Dead."

"_Supposedly dead_," Shane corrects, like he always does. Lately he's been trying to talk Rick into this whole idea by acting like they could find the real princess and deliver her to her last remaining family. Like life is some goddamn fairytale.

Rick doesn't respond. He's never told anyone about that day, about being there when the Royals were murdered. He's never told anyone, not even Shane, about watching the little girl run, then fall.

Remembering the gunshot makes Rick's throat click. He's heard guns go off many times since then, but they've never been so loud to him- that last shot had taken over the world.

"Rick?"

"What?" Rick looks over and sees Shane looking at him like he's been talking to him for a while without him noticing.

"I um-" he starts. "Shane, I just don't think this is a good idea."

Shane lets out an exhausted sigh. "You think selling crap on the street for the rest of our lives is a better idea?"

He doesn't answer him at that, and they walk in silence for a while.

"You know what, it doesn't matter." Shane says, his voice sounding cold and bitter.

"She's gone now, anyways."

* * *

Rick wakes up with the phantom sound of a laugh still ringing in his ears; a body in the snow on the back of his eyelids.

He slows his breathing to something manageable, then gets out of bed. Today there will be no stall, no convincing passerby that they really do need this teapot and yes, it really did belong to the royal family before their untimely demise. Today is haul day, which means they're heading to the palace in the hope that they'd find something worth selling.

Rick mets up with Shane down the bottom of the steps of their apartment building and they start towards the palace.

"We gotta get new boots," Rick says as he feels snow seep into his left shoe.

"When don't we need new boots," Shane says in a tone of voice that means he is mentally tallying what they need to buy with what money they have. After a few minutes he asks,

"Your balls still twinging?"

Rick laughs, relieved to know Shane has decided to lighten the mood.

"Nah. What about your chin?"

Shane rolls his eyes. "Oh, yeah."

They bicker about it all the way to the palace, even as they're breaking in, though they do drop to whispers during that. There is no one around- there never is, nowadays- but it's habit. This is one of the things they do that could get them killed. Really, far too much of what they do could get them killed. It's the main reason Rick is trying to get them both out of France. It'd be nice to live without the constant worry of getting lined up and shot.

They head into the bedrooms this time, which has been mostly ransacked. Rick goes through one of the maiden's room and tries not to remember the woman's corpse. He'd managed to make out a few of the faces. This woman, he remembers, had bullet holes in her as well as wounds that Rick later found out were from bayonets.

Rick shudders and then forces himself to still. He goes through the drawers and leaves in a hurry.

"Anything good," Shane calls from across the hall.

"Not much."

"Keep looking," he tells him.

He heads into the nearest room. Like the rest of them, it's dusty and picked bare. The wallpaper is ripped and the mattress is missing. Rick bends down next to the bed to see if there's anything under the frame, something people missed, and then pauses.

On one of the bed's legs, there is a small carving. It has curves that hint at cursive, but there's only so much you could do with wood. It read M.C.V.

Rick swallows. Michonne Charlotte Valois.

He raises his head and looks around. This room had been hers, once. She had bent down, sitting just like he was now, and her hands had held something- a dinner knife, maybe, or a hairpin- and carved her initials into the wood.

Rick stands and heads over to the window. It's small and the lock is stiff, and Rick has to shove at it with the heel of his hand. Once he gets it open he throws the window open and sticks his head out to take several big, gulping breaths.

He closes his eyes. In his memory, her hand is hot in his. Her eyes are dark and wide as she stares at him.

_Run. They're coming for you, you have to go-_

"Are you Richard Grimes?"

Rick startles. His head bangs on the top of the window and he swears.

"Depends who's asking," he says, rubbing at his head. He turns around, mouth open to ask who she is, but then he sees her and his mouth stays open wordlessly.

She's cleaned up since yesterday, lipsticked and lovely. Still, she isn't wearing all the shawls. Her clothes are plain, but clean, and her face is hidden by nothing.

Said face twitches as she registers him. "Oh."

"Yeah," he says, and feels his mouth curl into a smile. "Coming for a second round?"

"Maybe later," she says. "Are you Richard Grimes or not?"

He runs his tongue against the back of his teeth. "Dunno where the hell you got my name, but people around here call me Rick. Why do you want to know?"

She raises her chin. "I was told you could help me get out of Paris. I need exit papers."

"You and everybody else." He looks over her, trying not to stare. She does look like her. Maybe Shane is right. Maybe, if they find the right girl, this plan might work ou-

There is a stab of guilt as he remembers that they are in her room. They are standing in her room, and the woman standing in the doorway is not the girl who once carved her initials into the wood of the bed- that girl had died in the snow a long time ago.

"I heard you provide that kind of service," the woman tells him. Her gaze slides sideways to the bruise on his cheek.

"I'm sorry for hurting you yesterday," she says, and it actually sounds sincere, though he doubts the sincerity is real. Chances are she's just a good actor.

He turns around and opens one of the drawers to look through it.

"I can't help you. Sorry." He says hoping she'd leave. And when she doesn't say anything for a while, he thinks she did. But then he glances over his shoulder and sees her standing there, looking across the space. Something has caught her attention and she seems to be in deep thought. Then her focus is on him again.

"You didn't lie when you said those knock-offs are 'the real deal', huh?" She jokes.

The corner of his mouth quirks upwards and he shuts the drawer.

"Still, selling this stuff doesn't exactly cut it." He says and then moves to walk out the door. Before he can brush past her, though, she stops him by the arm. He looks down at her with his brows furrowed and pauses. Her hand slowly moves away from his arm and comes to rest on his chest, silently asking him to stay.

Rick watches her closely as she lets out a sigh and looks down before slipping her other hand out of the pocket of her long, black coat, revealing the wallet she had stolen the day before. She holds it out for him and expects him to take it from her, but when she looks up she sees him staring at her, and furrows her brow when she can't get a read. There is something about his gaze, it seems to pierce right through her, reaching far into the depths of her soul.

They jolt apart when they hear footsteps approaching and turn around to see Shane emerging into the hallway. He pauses, eyebrows raising when he sees the woman, then raising further when he takes in what she looked like.

"Oh," Shane says. "Oh, jeez." He looks at Rick. "Is that the girl from yesterday-?"

"I'm here for an exit visa." She says before Rick can answer him.

Shane sees her holding the stolen wallet in her hands but quickly decides against trying to take it from her. This opportunity is too good to pass up. "Is that so? Where are you headed to?"

"Hopefully, out of the country."

"Shane-" Rick starts, but he ignores him.

"And after that?"

She pauses. "London."

_Oh, this is fucking wonderful,_ Shane thinks, but tries not to let the excitement show on his face.

"Why London?"

"I- might have an acquaintance there."

"Might have?" Rick asks.

"Yes."

"What a coincidence," Shane croones. He tries for casual, crossing his arms and learning back against the wall. "We're headed for London, too."

She nods. "I heard."

"_Shane-_" Rick warnes again.

"You did?" Shane talks over him and wets his lips. "Hear anything else about why we're headed there?"

"Perhaps."

_That means yes._

_God fucking damn it, _Rick thinks.

No point holding back now. "Would you be willing to get in on it? Be our Michonne?"

She purses her lips. "I think not."

"Too bad." Rick says and starts to move towards the door again, but not before grabbing Shane by the arm and dragging him with him. He doesn't budge.

"Well," Shane adds. "If you want your papers-"

"I'm sure we can arrange something else," the woman says, pulling up a smile. Before Shane knows it he was smiling at her bemused. She is obviously going for charming.

He shakes his head. "I'm afraid not. I'd think about it if I were you. The con shouldn't be too hard, you look like you were made for the role, and the reward is worth the trials."

"Oh, I know."

Shane furrows his brows at that, confused.

"Okay, so, what's the rub? We'll teach you what to say, you just have to perform. Something tells me you're good at that. Afterwards, you can do whatever you-"

She cuts him off. "You won't give me the papers otherwise?"

Shane pauses, then shakes his head. Rick's gaze shifts from his friend to the woman standing in front of them.

Her fingers tap on the side of her thigh, then still. It's the first thing he's seen that comes close to giving something away. She is nervous.

This is wrong, he knows it. A terrible idea that is doomed to end in a catastrophe. But when he looks at her, looks at her face, as unsettling as it is, a part of him really believes this plan might work with her. He can't deny that she looks _exactly _like the girl he remembers. The similarity almost frightens him. She still haunts him in his dreams, reminds him of how he failed to save her.

Rick sighs and steps closer before he realizes he's doing it.

"Listen, this con does come with a lot of risks. You- You do have similarities with her, but that's not all that matters. You'll have to adopt a personality that-"

"No, I know I could do it. It would be easy enough," she says, sounding like she was considering it. "It's not that."

"What, then?" Shane steps closer. "Think of it. Riches beyond belief. Being royalty, if you decide to stay after the con finishes."

She tips her head. "Riches, I'd like. Royalty- royalty sounds like a cage, if a gilded one. But-"

A muscle flutters in her jaw. Rick watches the tiny movement under her skin. Her eyes track his face: she is considering her options.

Finally, she gives a curt nod. "If it will get me to London- or just out of France, even- I accept."

Rick lets out a sigh.

"Great." Shane grins and then tries to tamp it down. "You won't regret this."

Then he holds out his hand towards her. "My name's Shane Walsh, by the way."

"Richard's partner," the woman nods. "I've heard of you."

She takes Shane's hand and realizes that she hasn't introduced herself yet. Huh.

"Well um...I'm-"

"_Michonne._" Shane finishes for her with a smile that looks convincing enough.

"You really wanna call me that?"

"Listen honey, if you're gonna play the part you're gonna have to take the name. For now, at least."

She frowns at him for a few seconds before looking at the other man beside him. Rick seems to be lost in his thoughts.

It's out of his control now. He has to accept this whole thing and make the best out of it, even if it doesn't really sit well with him. He's had so many plans whirling in his head; plans he hadn't thought would become solid. To think of it- the perfect girl turning up asking for exit papers to the exact place they were going for the con. It feels like fate, almost.

And then he remembers they are still standing in her bedroom. "Uh, excuse me-"

He walks out into the hallway. The other two follow him, and when Shane pins him with a questioning look, he waves a hand. "Sorry, just- it felt disrespectful, arranging all of this in her old room."

Surprise and understanding dawns on their faces. _Michonne_. Rick can't imagine getting around to actually calling her by that name. She turns around in the doorway and looks around the skeleton of the bedroom. Her hand goes to touch the thin chain of a necklace, which disappeares into her coat.

"This was hers?"

"Used to be," Rick says. He watches her face- it's undisguised, if only for a second. He expects interest, maybe reverence, or even disgust if she was one of the loyalists who considered the royals to be pigs who deserved what they got- but what he gets was a flash of something like fear.

Rick frowns. She looks like he does, sometimes, right after waking up from the dream that only happened when there was snow outside. But it's hastily rearranged back into a mild smile, and then she's walking beside him and Shane into the large hall.

"Well," she says, coming to a halt in front of them. She shakes her hair over her shoulders and for a moment Rick can believe the fiction they are going to weave around her. "Shall we get started?"

* * *

**Author's Note: ****So, what do you guys think? Please let me know! Thank you for reading! x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Hey everyone! I know it's been a while, but I'm finally back with another update for this story. This chapter was incredibly hard to write and edit for some reason - everytime I thought it was done I ended up not liking and changing it, I eventually split it up into two parts so I can get it out sooner, but now I'm somewhat satisfied lol. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

She has done a lot of things to prepare for cons. She has learned languages, crafted new personalities and worn them at will, researched family lines and dug into the sordid secrets of too many people to count.

"Princess training" - as Rick and Shane fondly call it - is not the hardest work she's done for a con.

Early on, Rick suggested they stay in the palace during the course of their con preparations and use the old classroom in the palace for their lessons. He stumbled upon it a while back and figured it had been used for private lessons before. Judging by the layers of dust that covered every inch of the place, Rick and Shane were certainly the only people to come there every once in a while, and while she wasn't exactly delighted by the idea of spending her nights under one roof with two strangers she had to admit it was the safest option.

Rick warned her of the dangers of this plan, and she knew he hoped that she changed her mind and dropped out of their con. Rumors about the lost princess spread like wildfire in this city, and it never ends well for the ones claiming to be her. Revolutionaries have their eyes and ears everywhere.

But if this con promises her a ticket out of this city, she is ready to accept all kinds of risks.

The palace—or at least, the shell of it- is still. Too still. Each movement she makes echoes through the empty halls and corridors. There is nothing left on the walls at this point but ash and old paint, burn marks from where the flames have licked the walls, and holes from where it had burned through. Looters have gone through the place in the immediate aftermath of the fire and it seems like nothing of value has been left behind. Even the door handles have been removed. Only dust, dirt and cobwebs covered furniture and floors.

After agreeing to the job, Shane condemned Rick and her to spend the day cleaning some of the corridors, bedrooms and the large ballroom that they decided to occupy during their stay, while he takes to selling antiquities on the street.

Instead of turning to her job right away, she goes where her feet take her. Each room fades into the next, bedrooms and bathrooms, parlors and libraries with empty shelves. She spends more and more time in each room she enters, running her hands over scorched, sturdy wood.

Eventually she winds up in the large hall in the center of the palace. The roof is burned through and collapsed in many sections, letting the early morning sunlight in to light up the room. Her footsteps reverberate off the empty walls, echoing as she moves forward. The noise unsettles a group of crows, who fly off through a hole in the roof, cawing the entire time. A chill goes down her spine as the building returns to stillness.

There have been people here, once, she thinks. People who had lives, who were happy. She finds it hard to imagine. Now, all that is left of this place are a few bits of burnt wood and broken windows. And one day, even that would cease to be. Time erodes all and even the history books won't remember this place, won't remember what happened here.

It's sad—events didn't matter at all unless someone was there to remember it, to write it down or tell it to the next person. How many important moments have been lost to time? How many things would she never discover about herself? Even if she did find out what happened to her family—and she was well aware that she may not—it would probably only be the bare bones, the basic facts. It would only be half a picture, what other people will have decided are the important details.

It wouldn't be the same as remembering herself.

She wrinkles her nose as she slides a finger across a table and glares at the layer of dirt on it. She sighs and decides to finally start cleaning, wiping off the dust with a wet towel.

When she finds a few plates in one of the cabinets she picks one up and blows off the dust. The plain object has maintained some of its shine despite the dirt and she examines her own reflection in it before she catches sight of something behind her.

At the end of the hall, the remnants of a portrait of the royal family hang on an incredibly high wall. Honestly, she is amazed that no one has torn it down by now. It is still there, the frame warped and tarnished by heat and time and the painting itself melted and cracked, burned away completely in other spots. What remains was half the king's face—his eyes gazing at his daughter, his expression filled with love, his lips parted but smiling.

Before she realizes it, she finds herself glued to the man's portrait, her mind filling in the missing pieces of the painting.

Her gaze lands on the little girl. Her eyes are dark and deep, her hair brown and curly and good god, the boys were right. She sees those features, that face in the mirror every morning.

She is struck dumb.

There are no public portraits of the young princess. Most of them were burned with the palace and the government keeps the rest locked up tight. There is a lot at stake in recovering the lost princess. No one wants to make it easier for the pretenders to impersonate her. She has never known, not really, what the girl had looked like, not until now.

The resemblance is uncanny.

But resemblance is all it is. _It can't be anything more than that,_ she thinks as she yet again touches the chain of her necklace that hangs hidden underneath her clothing.

Could it?

A few moments pass before she remembers the dirty plate that is still in her hands and decides it best to stop entertaining these ridiculous fantasies and return to her work. She turns around and is met with the sight of Rick, standing a few feet away from her and leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and his eyes glued to the portrait above her. When his eyes slowly land on her she sees his chest rise and fall on a deep breath. She frowns.

Without a word, he stands up straight and disappears into the hallway.

* * *

Her dream is always changing: snow that stretches out forever, her breath coming fast as she runs, something catching on her foot and she falls alongside a sound that must be a gunshot.

Sometimes she runs from the gunshots for a long time and never falls, just runs, and the gunshots keep coming. Sometimes there will be dark, and in the dark there will be muffled screams that are always so familiar in the dream but unrecognizable upon waking.

Very rarely, maybe once or twice a year, she will be in the dark and then the dark will fall away and there will be a boy's voice, but she can never make out what he says.

Then she will wake up.

* * *

"So you hold your knife in your right hand," Rick instructs her, guiding the knife between her thumb and index finger. It is his turn today- he and Shane take alternating days, with one of them selling crap on the street and the other teaching her. Shane sticks to history, mostly. Rick focuses on the tiny intricacies: posture, tics, embarrassing family stories.

When she, early on, had asked how Rick knows all this, he had faced the chalkboard for a long second before moving on with the lesson and leaving the question unanswered.

For now, she will let it lie.

"Yeah that's it, put your index finger on top." The grip feels awkward, but she complies.

"And you hold the fork in your left hand, with the tines down and your elbows always locked to your sides like that."

His fingers feel warm against the exposed skin on her forearm as he guides her into the right position.

Rick looks a few years older than her. Although she heard quite a lot around the city, she still feels clueless when it comes to him. He is quiet, very much unlike Shane. Word on the street is that he is an outcast, that lives very isolated and keeps to himself. He doesn't have any family left, apart from Shane, although they aren't actually related. She also heard about various cons that he orchestrated, was told he was incredibly stoic and calculating, also unlike Shane, and that he was a troubled soul.

Now that she has spent some time with him - he seems a lot kinder than people made him out to be. It is almost like a facade slipping away. She decides to ignore the fact that it reminds her of herself.

His shoulders are broad, his hands are rough but warm. His hair is quite long, and curls at the ends. He shifts a bit to meet her gaze, and she is suddenly captivated by blue eyes.

_Pull yourself together._

Letting out a scoff, she shakes her head and pulls an inch away from him.

"How the hell do people eat like that?" She asks and gestures with her elbows locked to her sides.

Rick leans back as well and gets up from his stool before making his way over to the chalkboard.

"Also, never _wipe _your mouth after eating, merely dab at it." He continues, ignoring her question. "And when you're drinking tea, don't loop your fingers through the handle of the tea cup. You keep your pinky in and you pinch the handle."

He begins writing down some of the rules he has already gone through with her on the board, only looking over his shoulder for a second to find her reaching for the tea cup with a confused look on her face.

"We're going at this from the amnesiac angle, yes?" she asks and raises the cup to her mouth.

She had suggested early on that a reason the princess hadn't contacted her last remaining family was that until recently, she couldn't remember she was the princess at all. It's simple enough- it's a good explanation to why she hasn't contacted Queen Jospehine before, and if it's a backstory that falls too close to home for her, she hasn't mentioned this to the boys.

"Yeah," Rick says distractedly from where he's rubbing the chalkboard with his sleeve.

"Then it shouldn't matter if I miss a few details. I might even want to, depending on the detail." She suggests. "I mean, It's probably better to be safe- learn everything, then pretend not to know something if it becomes useful to do so."

She watches Rick consider it. One thing she has liked about the boys from the start: they treat her like an equal. She figures it's only partly because she beat the crap out of them once, and partly because she hasn't tamped down on how capable she is. It's oddly freeing: she usually spends her life dumbing herself down, turning herself wide-eyed and adoring. It's not the only personality she can pull on, but it's the one she ends up using the most.

Rick starts scribbling on the chalkboard again. "Good thinking," he says.

He seems uncomfortable around her sometimes. She hasn't missed how Shane stuck to calling her "Michonne", while Rick was clearly unsure about how to address her sometimes. He had asked for her real name once, but she had decided against telling him. Mainly because there was no correct answer to his question.

After getting out of the hospital she had woken up in with no memories, the caregivers at the orphanage had called her 'MJ' because the necklace was the only clue about her identity that they could find on her. Everything from around that time seems blurry to her. When she ran away a few years later and ended up on the streets she had used all kinds of names and changed them whenever she associated with new people.

This isn't any different. She has decided she would play this new personality without revealing her identity, or rather her lack of one, without any kind of attachments. She knows too little about them to trust them just yet, and if this plan goes south it's better to not leave any traces. So they decided "Michonne" would be something like a code name for her. Granted, it does feel weird to be addressed by the name of a supposed dead girl. But she figures she will get used to it like she always has.

Has there ever been a time where she hadn't been pretending?

A time when she didn't have to wonder about who she really was?

She can't remember.

She watches the white lines connecting the royals smear and vanish under Rick's touch. Her eyes dart towards his face and she watches him carefully.

She purses her lips against a smile. He still hasn't asked for his wallet back.

* * *

When they sit down for lunch, he offers her half of his sandwich.

She takes it. "Butter again?"

"You know it," he says around a mouthful.

She considers what would be the best response. Rick has proven favourable to sarcasm in the past, which is oddly delightful for her. "My favourite."

He rolls his eyes. "Oh yeah, I stay awake at night looking forward to these," he says, and then he takes a large bite, complete with enthused noises.

She laughs. It's not a fake one, which means it's barely more than a snort.

Quiet or not, he seems pleased by it. He meets her eyes briefly before taking another bite, then looks out towards the windows of the palace, in between the boards that keep out the wind.

She looks around the ballroom, which is empty apart from their makeshift dinner table.

Michonne had danced in this room, once. _The real one_, she thinks and shifts her feet against the floor and presses her heels against the crate she's sitting on. Sometimes when she's in the ballroom she'll get the shivers thinking about the Imperials dancing, taking turns spinning each other around. For some reason she always pictured the little girl running at her father, him lifting her up, her mouth falling open in laughter.

She squeezes her eyes shut and busies herself with the sandwich, then the lunch she had brought: a handful of dried fruit, which she shared with Rick.

He thanks her and they sit in silence that could almost be called comfortable, if she was in the habit of being comfortable with people.

"Alright," Rick says after a few minutes. He claps his hands on his knees and she very determinedly doesn't wince, because she's long since trained the panic out of her that surges at any sound that resembles a gunshot.

"Back to the lesson," Rick continues, and gets up. Then, like an afterthought, he turns around and bows to her, offering a hand and putting the other one behind his back as if he's standing in front of a duchess. "Madame?"

"Your highness," she corrects him, and takes his hand. It's very warm.

His fingers falter around hers for a moment, but then his face falls into a grin. "My apologies, your highness."

She stands. He drops her hand. She watches him turn towards the blackboard and flexes her hand at her side, something unnameable scratching at the back of her mind.

* * *

When Rick asks about her parents, she thinks about dodging the question.

"I lost them in the revolution," she says eventually. It's true enough.

Rick's face goes understanding. "I'm sorry."

"You, too?"

"Uh, no.." He rubs his hands against his pockets. "Uh, my father a bit afterwards. But still."

"Still," she echoes.

His gaze goes distant and she wonders what else he lost. The same as everyone else, she supposes- everything, or most of it: crucial pieces that left them grasping at what they had left.

She swallows. "How did it happen?"

He blows out a breath that turns into a laugh halfway through. It's not a joyful laugh.

"Sorry," she tries, but he's already waving her away.

"No, it's fine. I just- I don't talk about that part of my life."

She wonders if she would, if she could remember it. She only remembers the end of the revolution. What must it have been like in the middle of it?

"Me neither," she offers.

He cracks a smile. At first she thinks he's going to ask her about her own parents, how they died, and she will have to come up with something or avoid the subject. But then Rick reaches up and rubs at his shoulder as if it were in pain. She has seen him do it once or twice.

"So," he starts. "Let's see what you've got."

When she goes over the distasteful habits of the inner family flawlessly he doesn't look too impressed, but she supposes that's because he's gotten used to it after days of the same thing.

* * *

"You're a natural," Shane tells her one day, about two weeks into her training.

As the lesson gets sidetracked - and they often do, nowadays, even if they always jolt back on track after ten minutes or so - she asks Shane about what they will do when they get to London.

Shane grins and tells her they will meet Hershel Greene. She's learned about him already. He is an old friend of the royal family.

"Rick says he knows him, so we will have a chance at speaking with him. Then he'll get you to the Empress."

After that he starts lecturing her for hours on France's long, tumultuous history. (_You need to know this, Princess. A Valois would._) He goes off on a tangent about the colorful members of a very extended Valois family tree (_Don't roll your eyes, Chérie. You're supposed to be their family_.), before making her repeat all of his stupid facts.

"Where was Uncle Raphael's wife from?"

"Mecha," she says lazily. Her eyes are closed, and her head is resting on her hand as she answers Shane's questions.

"When is the queen mother's birthday?"

"March fourth."

"France's new form of government?"

"Officially, a centralized socialist republic. But you like to call it fascist."

"That's 'cause it is. Year of the Revolution?"

"1916, I knew that before you told me."

"Hard not to. Where were the Greene's from?"

"England," she mumbles. "Before it was Ireland. Grandmother used to bring the good ink from there."

Shane is quiet, which is strange, so she opens one eye. He's giving her a funny look.

"Did I tell you that?" he asks with a frown.

She shruggs. "Probably."

"I can't have told you that."

"Well, then Rick did."

"Hmm." His brows are furrowed, but he doesn't say anything else.

* * *

**Author's note:** That's it for chapter 3! The next one is almost finished, I promise I won't keep you waiting for too long this time. Please let me know what you think so far, I love reading your reviews!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** As promised, I did my best to not keep you waiting for too long. Thank you to everyone who left a review on the last chapter. It's nice to see people still being interested in this tale. I know this story was kind of put on the back burner for a while, but I've decided to push through it now. So without further ado, here's chapter 4, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Why London?"

She pauses in mid-bend. Rick had been guiding her in the correct way to curtsey.

She straightens and cranes her neck right and left until her muscles pop. "I told you."

"You said you might have an acquaintance there." He leans hard on the words. It's obviously a question.

Her hand lifts to her necklace. A fingernail traces the lettering that runs around the edges: 'Together in London'. It's a pipe dream. It was a comfort, at the start: _someone must have loved me_, she had thought when she was a child. _I should try to find them._

She once dreamed of a family coming to find her, who would take her away from the cold and feed her and be worthwhile of her trust. They wouldn't screw her over for her share of the cash or leave her for dead because it was too much trouble to dig her out of a caved-in tunnel.

She had started saving money to get to London for the last few years, but life kept happening. Eventually London had turned into a fantasy she thought distantly about, and at the end of the day she focused on the upcoming con and tried to get enough food to survive. After all- the necklace might have been an inside joke. Whoever had given it to her might not have loved her, or maybe they did and they were somewhere other than London, or maybe they were dead. Even if they were alive, and in London and they did love her, there was no guarantee she would find them.

She isn't sure what possessed her to try to get to London again. She wants to get out of France, mainly, and London seems as good of place as any.

And if she finds the person who gave her the necklace, then- well. That would be one mystery solved.

"I don't remember much about them," is what she says. "They might not be there anymore."

Rick makes a sympathetic noise. "Family?"

"Of a sort."

He nods. He keeps looking at her like he wants to unravel her, and she is sorely tempted to let him- but she's too world-weary to be anything other than careful, so she bends into a curtsey again and looks up at him.

"How was that?"

He seems to snap out of a daze. "What? Good."

She ducks her head so he doesn't see her smile. Damn him for being so likeable.

* * *

As the lessons continue, Rick doesn't stop prying. Or, prying perhaps isn't the best word- they talk and things about the both of them are slowly revealed, and it isn't entirely unwelcome. It's actually surprisingly, probably dangerously welcome, to the point that she regularly has to stop herself from letting her laugh get loose; from telling Rick more than she should. She controls what he knows about her, but on occasion she'll find herself letting more slip than would be wise.

Rick, damn him, makes it easy. Despite his criminal status, he's trustworthy- if she was the kind of girl who trusted people.

She has been in cons that have lasted twice the length of this. Or the estimated length, anyway, they're hoping to get out of France before another month is up- and her fellow conmen in those jobs had been fine with keeping it professional. But Rick, and by extension Shane, both seem to be the kind of guys who want to get to know the person they've entered into a con with.

She is cautiously navigating this new friendship, with surprising results. She tries not to spend an extended amount of time without putting some emotional distance between herself and them, but this proves to be harder than expected with these two, in different ways.

Shane can be quite arrogant. She's dealt with men like him her entire life. Men who know exactly how to charm their way into basically anything. Nevertheless he seems like a man who sticks to his principles and would do anything to protect the people he cares about. And she can see that he cares about Rick.

And Rick- well. Rick is another case, an unexpected problem, because she doesn't get close to her temporary partners in crime, she uses them as a means to an end and they do the same to her. This is how it's been since she got into the con business eight years ago, and she's nervous about how much these men- especially this one man- shakes her status quo. He's charming, in a way that is completely new to her, and kind and traumatized, the kind of trauma that she is intimately familiar with.

Sometimes she'll get glimpses of things that make her want to pick him apart, not to dismantle him or toy with him, but to see. She'll catch him off guard and make him stutter or, amazingly, blush, and then he'll tell her to wipe the grin off her face and she'll realize she's grinning without meaning to.

It isn't often that she wants to know someone this badly. Rick- Rick makes her feel something she doesn't allow herself to feel. He'll shoot her a look after she spins a dry joke and his gaze will make her stomach jolt. She'll sternly think to herself this is not allowed, but in the moment it will get overshadowed by the jolt.

In a conversation like much of their conversations, Rick sits next to her- on the floor, Shane has borrowed the crate for the day to sit on at the stall- and she sits next to him on the floor instead of the crate, leaning back against it. They share their lunch like good comrades, everyone gets equal, and they joke sourly about it.

As he's munching on his half of an apple, Rick says, "You've been tired these past few days."

She pauses in mid-bite, then continues chewing her half. Trying to be casual, she says, "Are you implying I look worse than usual?"

"Oh, never, your highness." Rick grins. "Just thought I'd check if something had happened."

"I'm fine." She picks at the remaining skin on her apple, turns it over in her hands. Her bite mark is very neat. Then, for reasons that are feeling increasingly dangerous: "I don't sleep well, sometimes."

Rick hums. He cranes his head back to look at the domed ceiling. "Me, neither. Sometimes."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He leans back on his hands. "It's the snow. Brings back bad memories."

And she presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Bad memories. Yes.

When Michonne gets up and disappears into her room Rick and Shane are left alone.

Shane clears his throat and Rick looks at him.

"What?"

"You got a thing for her."

"No I don't."

"Yeah you do." Shane says with a sly grin. "You _like _her. Can't even blame you, I mean look at her."

"I don't get involved with … clients." Rick makes sure to emphasize the last word.

"You sleep with dumb girls all the time." Shane accuses him, and Rick scoffs at him with raised brows. _Like he's one to talk._

"But I don't get _involved _with them." Rick corrects, and Shane's eyes widen.

"So you admit it then, you actually like her. Enough to have to tell yourself not to go there."

Rick pauses, unsure of how to respond and Shane presses on.

"I don't know why you avoid any possibility of finding someone-"

"_Shane_."

Shane puts his hands up in defense. "Hey I'm not trying to be a dick, I'm just saying stop torturing yourself already. Life- Life will get better very soon."

Rick shakes his head and looks at the apple still in his hands. He thinks for a moment before his eyes connect with Shane's.

"You don't know that."

* * *

There is a boy in a doorway and he's staring down at her.

His mouth is open and his eyes are wide and- brown? Green? She can never get a good look. She doesn't remember much about him except that he says something to her, not when he's in the doorway - that doorway. What is he saying? He takes her hand. That, she knows. He takes her hand and says...

She wakes up with a jolt, sweat clinging to her forehead.

* * *

Rick is awakened by soft knocks on his door. He almost doesn't hear them over the roaring snowstorm outside his window, and it takes him a few seconds before he realises where he is and where the sounds are coming from.

She is about to leave when the creaking of the door being opened startles her.

"Michonne?" he asks, and her mouth goes dry.

His hair is disheveled, his eyes look tired. She remembers how he told her he doesn't get much sleep himself, and realizes she woke him up in the middle of the night. Regret fills her chest and she takes a step back.

But he opens the door wider.

"What's wrong?" he asks again, tilting his head slightly.

She stills for a moment, then shakes her head.

"I- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-" the loud howling of the wind escapes the window seals again and he sees her jump slightly.

He understands at once.

Taking a step closer, he reaches for her. His hand smoothes over her arm to stop her shivering and he notices how cold she feels.

Her gaze meets his, timidly.

Rick has never been a foolish person, but he sees the value in the concept of an educated gamble. No risk, no reward.

"Let me try something." He murmurs softly to her. He doesn't know what prompts him to do it, maybe it's the fault of his sleep-clouded mind. He leans in slowly and places a small, soft kiss just below her ear. He hovers in place, waiting for a reaction and expecting her to shrink back, but her hand comes to rest on his shoulder, not pushing him away but steadying herself as she becomes light-headed. Rick pulls himself closer to her and shifts slowly to right himself and meet her gaze, pausing to see what she would do. She stays put, and her shoulders relax. He takes his opportunity and presses another slow and careful peck, this time to her cheek, feeling her eyes flutter closed and her long lashes whisper across his cheek. It pains him to do so, but he pulls away and strokes her cheek softly, while looking at her closed eyes.

"Too much?" He murmurs. His low and breathy voice sends something through her. A feeling she hasn't known in what feels like forever. She can only identify the feeling as waves of want, and she gazes back at him through sleepy, half-lidded eyes as her hands smoothe over his strong shoulders. She draws in a shaky breath and her eyes dance back and forth between his.

Rick wants to crush his urge to leap forward and devour her. If it was any other woman on the planet this chase would have been over weeks ago. He would flash a grin, and one hand on her knee would earn him an all access pass to the land of flesh and orgasms. But this is different. With her, he had to be careful - not just for her, but his own sake.

His face inches closer and closer, ever-so-carefully. Eyes are downturned and a hand raises to touch her jawline, coaxing her closer until their breaths are shared and barely whisper over each other's lips

"Don't be afraid." He hushes to her, even though his heart pounds as forcefully as he suspects hers does. He wants this badly, but not at the risk of breaking what trust he's earned from her. He draws on every shred of decency and control he possesses to stay frozen in place, and lets her close the fractal, barely-there distance between their wanting mouths. When he thinks she may not grant his wish, he feels her fingers dive into his loose hair and she tilts her chin, closing the distance.

The feel of her soft lips on his lasted only a few seconds and yet they have left a significant impact on him. He had known hunger as a child, and her mouth pulls on him emotionally the way the smell of the neighbor's dinner had twisted his empty stomach. Rick can no longer tell himself he was only mildly infatuated with her; he desperately craves to have that intimate moment with her the way a drug addict needs his fix. The tugging on his heart he feels every time she appears truly vulnerable can no longer be passed off as casual empathy; he now feels an intense compulsion to protect her. Rick's desire to comfort her had manifested into a fierce and passionate conviction to heal the heart of a woman he can no longer deny his feelings for. It is with dread in his hollow chest that he recognizes the severity of his condition and he swallows heavily knowing he can't admit it to himself. Why did it have to be her? Her sheer beauty takes his breath away all while reminding him of his worst nightmares.

He leans in, and his lips find hers again. The kiss is deeper, more desperate. Before they know it, they're stumbling into his bedroom. She quickly finds herself entangled in his sheets with his solid body over hers and her fingers in his hair. The movements of their mouths become rougher, and her shivering stops when she feels the growing heat inside her. The anxiety she'd felt immediately after waking up from her nightmare has dissolved. She can't think, can't breathe. His taste clouds her mind and warmth blooms in her chest. This is nothing she has ever felt before. Her body sings when he turns his attention from her mouth to her neck.

He grinds his hips into hers, letting her feel his growing intention and it earns a throaty moan from her. When she busies herself with relieving him of his shirt he lifts himself off of her and pulls it over his head. Those blue eyes, sharp as daggers, suddenly melt into gentle softness casting over her. Of all the looks men had given her over the years, this one was somehow new to her, and she doesn't know what it means.

He brings his hand up to her cheek, pausing for a moment to carefully search her gaze for any uncertainty or hesitation. She finds that she can't stand his looks. His affection, his tenderness. She reaches for him, silently begging him to just take her, to not give her enough time to think about the consequences and change her mind. Get it over with quickly, take her mind off of the things that have been tormenting her and finally resolve the tension that has been building up between them.

She pulls him down to kiss her again, and her heart soared as they made quick work of the rest of their clothes and savored the delicious taste of each other's skin. Soon, his hips start rolling into hers with a sensuous rhythm that has her grabbing at his arm and shoulder, her hands and fingers tightening and relaxing in time with his firm but steady thrusts. The quiet gasps and soft moans he pulled out of her were music to Rick's ears. She doesn't have to say anything; the hitches in her breathing, the way her hand tightens in his hair or grip his shoulder as well as a million other little nuances of her body show that he is doing exactly what she wants. And when he takes his final thrusts the force is strong enough to reduce all feelings in her limbs to pins and needles. Wetness springs to her eyes, her mouth opens and she gives a small cry, her body convulsing around him.

* * *

"You seem really worried about this."

She looks up at Shane from her crate. She had been trying to take in the inside jokes Michonne had with one of her handmaiden, but for some reason she had to concentrate on stopping her hands from shaking.

"It uh- can be a lot to take in all at once," she says.

He shakes his head. "No, not that- you're confident when it comes to these lessons. And you should be- you know you can do this, we know you can do this. Just seems like you don't want to."

She looks into his face. Then she looks over at Rick, who is sitting on the crate opposite hers. The storm had raged the whole night. It's a rare day when the snow is so thick they don't bother with putting up their stall. The three of them have been huddled in the castle for hours now.

When their eyes meet the imagery of that night comes surging back to her consciousness. She recalls how his rough hands, his soft lips and his warm breath felt on her skin. It still twists her stomach in knots.

It was a mistake. She had known it when his lips first brushed her own. She remembers the look in his eyes when he had her pinned underneath him. It confused her, made her feel almost guilty.

A liar is all that she is. An empty shell without a real personality, without a real name.

He still looks at her with such concern, and part of her thinks he'd be a fool if he really fell for her. Another part mocks her for even thinking anyone could ever love her. The smallest part of her wishes things could be different - that she could wake up beside him every morning and stay wrapped in his comforting warmth, instead of sneaking out before he could notice.

She could trust him, is the thing. She could make the decision to believe he is a good person who wouldn't hurt her. She certainly wants to- and if she had met him and Shane maybe eight, even five years ago, maybe she would have. But she has gone too long and experienced too much to put her faith in anyone other than her.

Still, the words burn at the back of her throat. Surely, she thinks, it wouldn't cause too much damage. It could help.

_Do I want it to help?_, she asks herself. The smartest move would be to stay a safe distance away from this, to say to hell with London, she doesn't need anyone anyway - she has worn her only clue that someone loved her around her neck since before she could remember, together in London, but she has been fine on her own for so long.

She finally speaks, and it takes her a second to recognize her own voice. "I did lose my parents in the revolution, but only because I lost everything in the revolution. I-"

She stops. Her throat works. She can feel both the boys' gaze on her, quiet and waiting.

She tries again. "The first solid thing I remember is walking through the snow with a concussion. I don't know where I was walking from, I just knew I needed to keep walking. And I did."

Rick shifts from foot to foot. "Wait, is this- I thought you just suggested this for the con, it wasn't-"

"I might've pulled a bit from real life." she forces a smile. "The best lies have truth in them, yes?"

Rick doesn't reply.

She continues, "I walked until I found a city and then I was found at the side of the road, unconscious. I had very little memories. Flashes of- unimportant things, chairs and food and views from windows."

The boys are still staring at her.

She takes a bracing breath. "I don't- I don't know my name. They gave me a name at the hospital I woke up in. After that I changed it all the time."

"When did this happen?" Rick's face, when she looks up at it, is unreadable, but unreadable in the kind of way that means he's on the verge of something.

"The same week the Imperials were killed."

Beside her, Shane lets out a noise like a whistle. Rick is still staring at her, unblinking. There's something dawning on his face that looks like disbelief, only more terrible.

"You think you could _really_ be her," Shane says, and he sounds just as disbelieving but it is tinged with wonder instead of whatever is congealing on Rick's face. "Michonne."

"I think it's a possibility," she allows.

Shane lets out a laugh. "Well- that would be great! After we get out of France, obviously."

She looks over at him. "Would it? Her entire family is long dead. She has no one but a grandmother. I wouldn't want to be her."

Rick starts nodding. She doesn't think he knows he's doing it. "No," is what he finally comes out with. "She's dead. So there's nothing for you to worry about. She's definitely dead."

She keeps her face impassive. "You seem very sure of that," she says. It's something itching at the back of her head- Rick is so certain about so many parts of being royal, he knows far too much about the royals and their personal habits, their lives-

"She's dead," Rick says, hoarse. He won't meet her eyes anymore.

"We don't know that-," Shane says, and Rick looks his way- not right at him, just in his direction, like he's afraid what his eyes will reveal if he looks at Shane directly.

Shane's gaze turns almost suspicious. "Rick?"

Rick clears his throat.

"Well either way, the fake Michonne we're gonna turn you into, that's the realest version of her the world will get." Shane announces. "We'll see what happens. You can tell them what you just told us. Maybe…"

He trails off. He keeps looking at her like she's going to reveal something more, and it gets to the point that she has to look away, and when her gaze goes over Rick she finds he's turned away. He's not facing the chalkboard- instead he's facing the front of the ballroom, where the throne, now shabby, remains.

"Rick?"

He jerks slightly at the sound of it. He turns, but only enough to make it clear he heard. "I'm gonna- I might head upstairs. See if there's anything valuable to sell when this snow lets up."

She watches him go with dread growing in her chest. She had shared this story once with a nurse back at the hospital and no one else since then. As she watches Rick walk away, shoulders stiff, like they're being weighed down, she thinks she should have kept the words behind her teeth.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you for reading! I hope I didn't leave you on too much of a cliffhanger here lol. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, and I'll try my best to update again soon!


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